Stranger's Token
by TenTenD
Summary: The day Lyanna married, her youngest brother, named Benjen, put a halfpenny in her shoe to bring her luck. But the day Lyanna married, it rained and it was cold and the bride might have just as well worn mourning clothes for all the happiness she was awarded. WWI!AU - Lyanna/Rhaegar
1. i

The day Lyanna married, her mother cried. They weren't even elegant small teardrops rolling down her cheeks. Her face was red and her mouth tremulous. The day Lyanna married, her father shook hands with Aerys Targaryen despite their many differences. The day Lyanna married, her brother Brandon enlisted in the army and could not make it to the service. The day Lyanna married, Ned, her middle brother, brought her a bouquet of winter roses. The day Lyanna married, her youngest brother, named Benjen, put a halfpenny in her shoe to bring her luck. But the day Lyanna married, it rained and it was cold and the bride might have just as well worn mourning clothes for all the happiness she was awarded.

She stood before the Septon, one hand on her future husband's, the other around her flowers. She stood there and parroted words with no meaning, looking into violet eyes and praying that the ground would swallow her. She made him promises and received his own in exchange. Their hands were tied together with a ribbon of white.

The groom's mother cradled a sleeping infant to her chest while looking at the pair on the dais. She was the only person who wore a smile, and Lyanna was quite certain it was for the benefit of the young boy clinging to her skirts.

"What the gods have brought together may no man put asunder," the Septon declared, binding Lyanna and Rhaegar in the most holy tie of matrimony. She hated him for this. But Lyanna knew when to pick her battles.

She leaned in and accepted the brush of his lips across hers. The small token did little to lift her spirits and the daunting prospect of having to share the rest of her life with the man did not help any. Yet she was lost, as surely as a vessel at sea in a raging storm. She threaded her hand through his and they descended the stairs together. Young Viserys rushed to her, holding a bouquet of his own, beautiful white lilies. Lyanna claimed them for her own and bent to press a kiss to the child's head of silver curls. He beamed back at her.

It was then her father's turn to kiss her cheeks, which Lyanna endured stoically. Her mother too pressed soft lips to her pale skin and Lyanna softened just a little. Her mother was not at fault. Ned hugged her and Benjen clung to her dress a good few moments more than would have been considered appropriate. Her husband and his family stood aside, allowing the semblance of privacy to rule.

Her good-mother approached her after Benjen finally let go and patted her hand gently, giving her a welcoming kiss on the cheek. Her good-father did no more than look her up and down and nodded his approval. Lyanna smarted at that but kept her lips firmly shut.

Her husband was kind enough to escort her out with all the haste that could be mustered, he himself seemingly discomforted by what had taken place. Though she did not know why he would feel that way, Lyanna was grateful for the reprieve.

Rain drizzled outside, small drops hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. Her husband opened the umbrella and held it over their heads. Lyanna gathered her skirts as best as she could in one hand and attempted to avoid puddles. Thankfully the vehicle had not been parked very far off.

Rhaegar handed her in with an effortlessly elegant gesture and joined her half a heartbeat later. The driver was given his orders and Lyanna turned to stare out the window at the gray town with its little cramped houses. The streets looked almost deserted. Few people made their way about in the wretched weather that had descended upon King's Landing. She could feel his eyes on her, but Lyanna refused to face him. He would have a lifetime to torment her.

The thought made her ill. As far as Lyanna was concerned the whole affair was nothing short of a tragedy. It was cruel and unfair. She belonged to one of the oldest and noblest lines in Westeros, and instead of joining a man of the same ilk in matrimony, she was given to a member of the nouveau riche. She did not find the status objectionable or even the man himself. She just wished father had asked her before foisting her off on some cit. She would have agreed, after all she knew her duty. And she understood how the world worked. And honestly speaking she knew the worth of a match placed before her.

Rhaegar Targaryen was by all means a good match. He was not young enough to be irresponsible, but not old enough to have grown stuffy and lifeless. He was a well formed male with a pleasant enough disposition, if a bit quiet. Financially he was well off yet he still worked copious amounts of time. He was genuinely pleasant and if Lyanna had been asked to marry him she would not have refused.

It was quite another thing to be ordered into her white dress and marched down the aisle. Her father was at fault in that. Yet it was pointless to mull over the past. She glanced away from the window, only to meet her husband's gaze. His stare did not waver even as her eyes bore into his. Lyanna was sorely tempted to pull a face just to see how he would react. She heroically resisted such an impulse.

Without taking his eyes off of her Rhaegar searched his coat pocket for something. Lyanna like refused to break the stare, though curiosity gnawed at her. He held something to her. She did look down then. It was a folded piece of paper. She took it from his hand and unfolded it.

Letters and numbers sprawled out on the otherwise white surface. Lyanna read it slowly, just to make sure she did not miss anything. "Why would you give me this?" Her question reverberated trough the small space between them.

"You are my wife. What is mine is also yours." It sounded so simple, so innocent. "I don't want you to feel trapped. I want us to be happy."

She understood his reasoning. He was giving her a choice. Lyanna looked at the paper again. She folded it back and put it in his coat pocket, her fingers lingers a touch too long. "I can have it back when I want it?"

"Whenever you want it," he promised. She smiled at that and allowed their hands to meet on the cushioned seat. Then she faced the window once more, looking out into the fog. He said nothing else, perhaps content to hold her hand and look out his own window.

When they arrived at their destination, she was once again treated to her husband's politeness. He helped her out of the car and together they ascended the five steps that led to the door. Lyanna was just lifting her skirts so they wouldn't catch on anything when she was swept in Rhaegar's arms. She squealed in surprise, having forgotten that certain traditions needed to be observed. Rhaegar chuckled lightly and carried her over the threshold.

"Let's not tempt fate," he murmured as Lyanna caught him by the shoulders with one arm. The other was still busy with holding the flowers. He even took her up the stairwell to what looked to be the master bedroom. He deposited her on the bed and unbuckled her shoes, despite her vehement protests that he did not need to do it. "I want to," he assured her, slipping one shoe off and turning his attention to the other.

There was something unmistakably provocative about the way he touched her. There was an art to his fingers sliding against her ankles. It was peculiar that such a small touch could wake in of her a strange feeling that burned her insides. While it was not exactly excitement, Lyanna felt awareness trickle through her. There she was, sitting on the bed with a man kneeling at her feet, pulling the stocking off of her right leg. The light blue material peeled away with ease guided by his hands. Lyanna sighed into his touch and tried to relax. Instinctively she knew she ought to keep her calm.

But butterflies fluttered about in her stomach, unsettling her nerves. In turn Lyanna bit her lower lip when her husband slipped his hands beneath her gown again, divesting her of the second stocking. She could not help fidgeting. Only when she was a child had anyone dressed or undressed her. It had been a long time since then. Involuntarily she shivered. The air was cool against her skin.

He stood up and placed the stockings next to her on the bed. "Well then, we leave in an hour and a half," he told her and Lyanna was startled out of the haze she had fallen in. Her husband made a valiant attempt of hiding his amusement at the shocked look on her face. "You didn't think our wedding day would go uncelebrated, did you?"

"I rather wondered," Lyanna admitted, a rose colour tinting her cheeks. "The church was fairly empty."

Rhaegar blinked. "It was your father's request. He said you had no desire for a large wedding."

"I don't," she assured him. "I just thought you might have some friends you would invite." In truth, Lyanna had grown curious about her husband. She knew nearly next to nothing about him.

"Most of them have already left for the army." He sat down next to her. His next confession dropped on Lyanna's head like a ton of bricks. "I am of leave for three more days. Then I must return. So you see, you only need to put up with me for a little longer."

Inexplicably Lyanna was disheartened. "But," she started, yet the rest of her protest was lodged too deeply in her throat to be expelled. "Why didn't you say something?" There was talk of war. Not a mere skirmish at the borders, but actual war. If he left he could die. Mortification for her earlier behaviour filled her. "I am so sorry."

"What for? You are entitled to your feelings, Lyanna. I know this is very sudden." He slung an arm around her, pressing her into his side. Lyanna gripped his coat, her teeth clenching together. "Whatever happens,-"

"Why me?" Lyanna cut him off. "Out of all the women, why me?" Her father had only told her that the Targaryens had agreed to seal the alliance by having her wed the eldest son of the family. She could have refused at the expense of her family and their livelihood.

"I wasn't going to, initially." She looked up at him then. "But then I saw you at the fair. I can't explain it, but I didn't want to fight my father's edict from that point on."

She hadn't seen him then. In fact, she had seen him just the other day for the first time. "Why didn't you speak to me?" He could have bothered to at least tell her his name then. "All these months and not one word."

"You had made it clear in your letter that you didn't want to see me until we were to be married." He sighed. "Perhaps I should have ignored that."

"Of course you should have," came her reply. "This would have been infinitely easier had I know you before."

Lyanna was left to make herself presentable and contemplate the unpredictability of her seemingly innocuous fate. The gods were having a laugh at her expense, that much she knew, and the young woman was not at all pleased. Three days, he'd said. What normal man waited until he was married to let his bride know he was going to war? What sort of human did one have to be to stoke the fire of another's worry, only to douse it at the most inopportune moment.

She might have only three days, but Lyanna vowed they would not be wasted.


	2. ii

As a woman who fairly knew her own mind and was not easily swayed, Lyanna had to admit she had made it extremely easy for her husband to burrow into a small niche of her heart. She definitely hadn't meant to allow any such nonsense to pass. He was her husband, true enough, and he would leave for the war soon. But that did not make him any more deserving of her attention than any other man enlisting for the army. Unfortunately, the gods seemed adamant that he win her good opinion. And they might as well win on that front.

Seated at the table along with family, Lyanna was witness to a moving moment which she would have ascribed to chance, had she not know any better. Yet as she had observed her new spouse for all the duration of their outing, she was certain that chance had less to do with it than volition.

It had started with the celebration of their marriage. She had been taken, quite like she'd expected, to partake in a meal that reunited both old and new members of her family. The atmosphere had been suitably suffocating, forcing Lyanna to adopt a stiff mannerism that, while not glaringly obvious, proved a throne in the side of any true enjoyment. They had arrived to the sight of Rickard and Aerys discussing opposing opinions in a civilised manner and their respective wives sharing a quiet conversation. Viserys sat next to Benjen, watching Lyanna's younger brother twist a piece of wire in silent fascination. Eddard was staring contemplatively out the window, not paying much attention to anything that went on around him.

Lyanna had slipped in next to her mother and was received warmly enough by the conversing women. Food was not long to come and despite the mood not becoming anything resembling warmth and safety. They continued along this path for some time, occupied with food or conversation or the occasional joke which was received with an air of awkwardness.

To be fair, Lyanna could not say what had disrupted the tentative peace. It might have been the drink, though it had been wine, or it could have been the dislike still lingering between the two fathers present. Whatever the case, the result was much the same. It had taken only a flippant remark to set tempers off, but every person at the table recognised the potential danger.

The first on her feet was Rhaella Targaryen. She attempted to soothe her husband with a subtle touch, but she was swiftly reproved by an angry look and a hiss from the man. Lyarra's luck wasn't much different. Eddard took the children aside.

"I think I paid you more than enough for the chit," Aerys Targaryen spoke in a low voice. "You should be grateful I even made the offer when she has nothing to recommend her other than her name." Lyanna blistered at the insult, but swallowed whatever words she would have liked to offer.

"You were quite eager for the support the name afforded you, I recall," her father spat back.

She knew exactly what they spoke of. The Stark lineage was old, almost revered in the North where Aerys Targaryen's business took him. A good-daughter with such blood running through her veins made for an easier transition and more hospitable climates. But it was also true that the Stark had fallen on hard times and aside from such small opportunities as afforded by her name, Lyanna brought little else but herself to the marriage.

Still, even knowing that, to be so callously reminded of her own insignificance in the struggle for power the two men played at was cruel and hurtful. A hand touched the small of her back gently and Lyanna lifted her gaze to Rhaegar's face. She hadn't realised just how close to her he was.

One glance was enough to tell her that the man she had married did not appreciate the scene unfolding in front of them. Or perhaps it was the words that did not sit well with him. Whatever the case, when Aerys pulled his had away from Rhaella's in a decidedly violent fashion and little Viserys choked on whimper.

"That is enough," Rhaegar said in a calm manner which Lyanna found contrary to the anger she could read on his face. She hadn't though he had a temper, and apparently it had been roused on her behalf. "I will remind you both that you are speaking about my wife. Any disparaging comment will be taken personally and repaid in kind." He was cross, she could see clearly. Rhaegar turned towards Lyarra and Rhaella and inclined his head. "Since civility seems too much to ask for at the moment, Lyanna and I should like to retreat for the evening."

"Of course," Rhaella said understandingly. Rhaegar bowed his head to plant a kiss on her cheek and Lyanna noted the subtly way in which his fingers stroked over her abused flesh, as if searching for the telltales sign of something more serious.

Lyarra was treated to a courteous farewell. "Perhaps you would be so kind and call upon us tomorrow, madam," he suggested smoothly; Lyanna suspected it was for her benefit.

"Where do you think you are going?" Aerys asked, standing to his feet. "I have not given you my leave to be off."

"As it happens I am well beyond the age of majority and am, in fact, not in need of your leave, ser." The answer did not seem to please the old Targaryen. He gave his son a venomous look. But Rhaegar had more to say, "In the interest of avoiding a spectacle, do not attempt to stop us. I am a party to this agreement, even if you have deemed fit to forget that, and I possess at least as much knowledge of the matter as you do."

"You dare threaten us," Rickard gasped, his face colouring with rage. Lyanna was torn between the need to understand whatever they spoke of and the desire to protect her family. No matter his actions and her anger, her father was still her father.

"I make no threats. It is merely a promise," her husband returned coldly. "Let us go, Lyanna." Perhaps assuming that she would follow, Rhaegar stalked out the door.

For a brief moment Lyanna was rooted to her spot, frozen in place, unable to decide what she should do. It would be beyond rude to turn around and leave all the guests there. But if she remained she did so at the expense of her husband's thoughtful actions. He could have ignored the insults hurled at her, she knew. He could have pretended not to hear. But he had defended her. Lyanna bit her lip. He owed her little respect for the way she had treated him and even less protection.

"Mother, father." She finally made up her mind. Lyanna gave her parents a nod. "Ser, madam." She took a deep breath before following Rhaegar out the door.

It was fortunate that they had arranged for a private space to take their meal in. At least no one had witnessed the humiliating episode. No one that mattered anyway. Walking as fast as she could without actually giving the appearance that she was in a hurry was no easy task. But she was well rewarded to see her husband waiting for her at the reception.

She took his arm without a word. There was nothing for it but to go home and see what the gods had in store for her. Embarrassing as the scene at the table had been, Lyanna was well aware that worse could have happened. She was fairly thankful for Rhaegar's approach, though she was not sure how he had kept himself in check for she'd seen the blaze of fury in his eyes.

In the seclusion of their vehicle, away from prying eyes, she felt at ease enough to express her gratitude. Placing a hand on his shoulder in a placating manner, Lyanna felt the tenseness dissipate. "Thank you," she murmured, knowing that close as she was to him, whispering would not impede his understanding. She leaned in, intending to present him with a token of sorts, but Rhaegar pulled away, startling her.

"Don't." That was it. One word. A rigid little syllable expressing not just denial, but admonition. With one word he delivered a blow as devastating as it was unexpected. It stung. Lyanna allowed the pain to wash over her, needing a reminder of the fact that her life was no joyous tale.

Why should he direct it towards her, Lyanna did not know. Her hand fell from his person and she sat back against her seat, her upper limbs pressing against her sides. Something caught in her throat and she felt oddly disturbed by the censure. Her jaw worked under tightly stretched skin. "Very well then," she bit out, unable to contain herself, "I shall not thank you."

The wilful statement was met with a cool look of disinterest. She felt like a child being scolded and it frustrated her beyond belief that she did not know the cause of his ire. She had done nothing wrong. Sucking in a shaky breath, Lyanna turned away from him to face the window. It was just as well that he was not speaking to her, nor looking at her. Had he addressed to her one other word, Lyanna was determined to make his ears ring with every vile comment she could summon. The beast; she had only wanted to thank him.

"Seven hells! Are you crying?" her husband questioned her, obviously alarmed. She felt fingers curl around her chin, guiding her to look at him. Teeth gnashing, Lyanna prepared a suitable retort, but the words died on her lips when their eyes met.

"I suppose I am," she admitted after several moments of uncomfortable silence. It had to bee her nerves. They were overwrought. She was tired and upset and in no way closer to understanding her husband now than she had been in the chapel. "I expect it'll pass soon enough." She loathed being vulnerable.

"You misunderstood, Lyanna. I am not angry at you." Rhaegar dropped his hand from her chin, allowing it to fall close to hers. His fingers hesitantly brushed hers. It would serve him right if she recoiled. But she didn't.

"You have an interesting way of demonstrating it," Lyanna quipped. She did not feel charitable at the moment, so she would not act less hurt than she was. Yet she did plant her hand more firmly against his. "I would like an explanation. Or at the very least an apology."

The vehicle drew to a halt. Lyanna did not break eye contact with Rhaegar. She challenged him to deprive her of the apology. His gaze lowered to their touching hands. But just as quick amethyst orbs snapped back to hers. "I apologise for speaking to you rashly. It was not my intention to hurt your feelings."

How presumptions of him to assume it had been her feelings hurt and not her pride. He was not wrong though. Lyanna accepted his words with a nod, and followed him outside, settling her hand in the crook of his arm by way of conveying their reconciliation. All the same, the brief peace of the earlier hours had been lost.

When she crossed the threshold for her second arrival in what was her home, Lyanna could not help the uneasiness that surged through her.

The moment she had dreaded was upon her. It was the duty of every wife to share her husband's bed. She had been instructed by her own mother, yet the knowledge did not ease her into the role. In fact it only served to raise her apprehension. If they did consummate the marriage, there would be no going back.

And that frightened her beyond words. She would stop being Lyanna Stark, becoming Lyanna Targaryen in truth.

Heart hammering against her ribcage, Lyanna slanted Rhaegar a speculative look. His features revealed nothing, not his stance.

They stood together, two shadows in a dimly lit hall, eyeing one another warily. Neither looked quite sure about how to proceed.

Tension swelled between then the liked of which was unknown to Lyanna.


	3. iii

_to lotrlover23: It's not really fear of sex as fear of knowledge. Lyanna fells that once she has consummated her marriage she will be different. She will know what she hasn't know before and there will be no returns to 'before', so to speak. I tried my best to illustrate it._

* * *

><p>The lights flickered on and Rhaegar gave a gentle tug to her elbow. Lyanna suppressed the desire to flee back down the stairs and entered further in the room. Trying to ignore Rhaegar's presence she made for the Yi Tian screen, knowing fully well it had been provided as means to accord her some privacy. Wood and dark tinted rice paper would cover her, protect her, or so Lyanna told herself.<p>

Behind the screen, on a low table, stood the small parcel her mother had instructed her to open when the time came. With trembling hands she pulled the ribbon apart and unpacked her little present. Her mother had assured Lyanna that it would be to her advantage. But what met her gaze left the young woman both astonished and distraught. She lifted the garment, feeling the soft silk underneath her fingertips and her whole face exploded with heat. She could not possibly wear it. Nor could she walk back out in her dress. She placed it back on the table

Closing her eyes, Lyanna grabbed for the lower half of her dress and pulled it up. She forced the confection further and further until she'd managed to drive it off her shoulder and over her head. Her chemise followed the same path, but the rest she decided to keep on. Giving one for look towards her mother's present, Lyanna analysed the night-rail with perfunctory attention. It was certainly beautiful looking, made for a special occasion.

And it would be used on a special occasion. A woman was a bride only once, her mother had told her. No matter how many times she married, she could truly be a bride just once in her life. And Lyanna was a bride at the moment.

She took the garment and held it against her. One hand brushed away invisible creases. Her eyes darted towards the dark paper of the screen. She could make out nothing beyond it but the rustling of clothing told her just what was going on. Refusing to pay it anymore mind, Lyanna slipped the article on and prayed she'd done the right thing. If she'd thought the gods would be of any help, she would have gone down to her knees there and then. But the time for such had passed. Rather like a soldier preparing to face the enemy, Lyanna square her shoulders and took a deep, calming breath.

Her mind told her that there was hardly anything to fear. Women married all the time and slept with their husbands all the time and nothing happened. Most women even enjoyed it, if what Lyanna had heard years ago from her aunt Branda was true. And aunt Branda had had three husbands, so Lyanna thought that she might be right in supposing the women knew what she was talking about.

First she poked her head out from behind the screen. Rhaegar stood by the window, presumably enthralled with the splendid image of a foggy evening. Would the moon even make itself known to them or were they to be left without its soothing light. On second thought, Lyanna revised her earlier consideration, no light might do even better.

Appearing from behind the screen, she gauged the distance between herself and the bed, wondering if she might make it under the covers before her husband noticed her standing there. Alas, she had no such chance, for Rhaegar chose that exact moment to turn around. Lyanna's muscles locked automatically, as if her body was preparing for impact. In a way she was preparing for a collision, just not a physical one.

His eyes were what drew her in. They had darkened considerably since she'd last gazed upon them. Or was it a trick of the light? How utterly foolish. She had seen his eyes not even five minutes past. The urge to shake her head was shoved in the back of her mind. Perhaps she had started imagining things. Lyanna stopped herself from biting down on her lower lip and forced her muscles to cooperate as she walked towards the bed, eyes still locked with Rhaegar's.

She stopped at the foot of the bed. Rhaegar never even left his position by the window. Instead he watched her, seemingly considering her. How strange. She felt boneless under his gaze, ready to fall apart at the slightest gust of wind. But she would not lower her stare. He took a small step forward and she flinched as if struck.

"The light," she spoke as if in a dream. Lyanna whirled around and walked towards the wall. She reached out towards the light switch and suddenly two arms snaked around her middle, their hold oddly relaxed. She hadn't even heard him cross the room. And yet there he was, gently holding her. His warmth seeped through the layers of their clothing and caressed her skin. Lyanna closed her eyes. Her head tipped slightly backwards. A word, a simple sound. She waited to hear something, but aside from soft breathing and the solidity of another body at her back there was nothing.

Lyanna pressed the switch down and they were plunged into darkness. She opened her eyes in the blackness. Strangely enough the cover of darkness woke in her a courage she'd not possessed before. Lyanna turned around in the circle of Rhaegar's arms, testing the boundaries of his hold. His shape took a few moments to form, but aside from the knowledge embedded in her mind, nothing told her it was her husband holding her.

Feeling her way over his chest to his shoulder, Lyanna caught onto the material of his sleepwear. One leg shook lightly, as if preparing to move. She wondered if he felt all of his as she felt the odd little shaky motion of his fingers resting on her lower back. There was something in the air, something beyond her recognition. Lyanna was quite certain it was the same something from earlier on in the day. Only this time he would not stop at peeling off stockings.

"We don't have to-" he began to say, his voice trailing past her ears. "If you rather wouldn't."

"I want to." Lyanna cursed herself. She didn't want to. She'd done it. She had told him she wanted to. Why, oh why had common sense deemed this exact moment fit to desert her?

Rhaegar, with his customary mildness, directed her towards the bed. The dark seemed not to pose much of a problem for him. But of course it wouldn't. It was his house; he was supposed to know it. Lyanna found herself lowered to the mattress, cool and soft underneath her. It contrasted with the warm, almost-weight of Rhaegar above her. His hands were ghosting over the lines of her body, slowly, as if he was trying to commit her to memory. It was trilling and mortifying at the same time. It left Lyanna wondering if she should push him away or pull him in her arms. It left her nowhere really for she could only stay still and wait.

One hand slid against her stockinged leg, feeling for the band. Lyanna wiggled and bit back a giggle when he touched a sensitive spot. The way his fingers ghosted over her skin, it tickled. This went decidedly against the solemnity which her mother had advised her on. It took Lyanna a moment to realise that Rhaegar had stopped moving. His fingers were pressed lightly against her skin. Lyanna held her breath.

He trailed his hand downward eliciting a gasp from her. Shaking with mirth, Lyanna barely managed to keep from giggling. "Stop that," she whispered harshly. The first words of any real sense if she might say so herself.

Thankfully, Rhaegar had more pressing matters to attend to. Or was it mercifully? He divested her of stockings with practiced skill, his movements confident and precise. She would have had to be a fool not to understand that he knew what he was doing. And with that the gnawing feeling of fright bloomed in her stomach. Worry seized her and she choked back a whimper. While he did know what to expect of their encounter, she hadn't the faintest idea – her mother had explained the whole matter rather mechanically.

"Rhaegar?" she asked, hurling the question into the blind darkness. Her hands sought him out, fisting into the material of his shirt.

He must have sensed her unease or heard it in her voice because he had stopped even before she'd spoken. "It's alright, Lyanna." The comforting quality of his voice washed over her, soothing some of her apprehension.

Soft lips touched her own, like in the sept. She relaxed gradually, fingers untangling from material and climbing upwards towards locks of silver. He was moving softly against her. One knee came to rest between her legs and her muscles tensed. Strangely enough it did not feel like a threat, but rather like a treat. Lyanna gasped at the heat unfurling inside of her, trickling slowly but surely through her limbs. Rhaegar deepened their kiss, his lips more firmly pressed to hers and Lyanna, guided by some instinct far older than her, tugged on his hair.

She did not mind when he pulled the thin silk off of her as she was too busy wrestling the buttons of his shirt, cursing the poor lighting. A moment of embarrassment flickered across her mind when he cupped one of her breasts. But she enjoyed his touch. There was some awkward fumbling with the wretched shirt though, for he would not let go of her and she insisted to be rid of his shirt. In the end they worked out a compromise.

And then came the real challenge. Lyanna had been certain that sooner or later the glass bubble of protection would shatter in a million shards, yet she still wasn't prepared when it did happen. Like any other maiden threatened with the loss of her innocence in a permanent manner, Lyanna had felt a moment of cool recollection when there was finally just thin air between them. It was rather like a bucket of cool water dumped on her head.

Having long since decided she would endure the task even if it took a turn for the worse, Lyanna had been pleasantly surprised by the interlude. Yet the time came for the real consummation and the feel of a something foreign and seemingly unfitting spooked her like thunder would a filly.

"This might hurt," came the superfluous warning as Rhaegar paused to give her a small kiss. "Just this once, Lyanna." And she recognised the promise in his words. "Try to relax."

Who in their right mind would relax when knowing they were to expect pain. Lyanna would have snorted if she didn't fear that making a sound might make her sick. Rhaegar pressed against her in a gentle manner, yet Lyanna could not help hissing at the sting. It was unexpected. He continued, embedding himself deeper within her, clearing through rings of muscle until he met a resistance.

Lyanna opened her eyes briefly but the sudden ache that followed made her screw them back shut with a yelp of pain. It burned and stung and she felt too stretched, out of her depths. She wanted to move but feared that it might aggravate the pain. Rhaegar was brushing strands of hair out of her face and whispering in her ear. She couldn't understand a single word but the cadence was comforting. She took one breath, two, three and miraculously the pain eased. What remained was a rather uncomfortable feeling of ripping at the seams.

Rhaegar gave a tentative thrust and Lyanna breathed through her nose. He repeated the motion and she followed his instinctively. Sitting still was a chore she could not complete.

While her fondness for the act did not grow tenfold with each meeting of flesh, she did feel something, lurking in the shadows. But she could not catch it. Too tired and much too confused, Lyanna locked her arms around Rhaegar when he came shuddering to a halt. She held him, anchoring him as he murmured nonsensical words into her skin.

His weight left her soon and she found herself securely covered and taken into now familiar arms.

Lyanna's eyes closed and she gave herself to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for not being sorry for the botched sexual encounter. (Also, my face is sporting the very appealing colour of a tomato right now. You had better appreciate this.)_


	4. iv

When bed warmed skin encountered a patch of cool sheets much to Lyanna's dismay. The sudden chill shot through her drowsiness, the echoes of a restful respite dissipating ever so slowly. A moan of protest followed by the rustling of sheets was the sure signs of wakefulness. Twisting herself around, Lyanna glanced towards the window, half hoping to be greeted by darkness.

Though the skies were an ominous colour and a healthy rain was beating a steady rhythm against the glass, it was most clearly daylight that flowed through the window. The estimation of the hour eluded her. Lyanna made to shed the blanket, but as soon as one of the corners fell she realised that underneath there was not a stitch to be seen.

A rose colour rose to her cheeks. Lyanna clutched the cover tighter then and swung her legs over the edge of the bed only for twinges of pain to explode. It was like a thousand pins and needles had made a cushion of her body. Grimacing, she summoned all her patience in order to keep still until the pain was somewhat soothed. It was not unexpected, but surprising all the same. Though Lyanna had been told what trails and tribulations waited for her as a new wife, she had rather hoped to escape the one that currently ailed her. Although, somewhere in the deep recess of her mind, she had to admit that the physical evidence made undeniable her new position. It was strange that one moment could chance everything.

One day ago she had been Lyanna Stark in the morning. She had been a child in her father's home. Not any longer. Lyanna stood to her feet, testing her limbs. The carpet was soft underneath her toes. Bunching the material of the covers so she could walk without firmly planting her face to the floor every few steps, Lyanna realised, not without a hint of trepidation, that she heard no stirring in the house. Naturally, having grown one of four children, a quiet house was fairly strange to wake in. Normally one of her brother would be banging doors around, searching for something or another, while another would be running up the stairs, making a racket. Ned could always be depended on to barge in her room and shake her awake. None of those common occurrences took place where she was. And she was completely alone in the room. This particular though troubled her more than she would have liked to admit.

Carefully walking to the dresser and rummaged through the things her family had sent to wait for her in her new home. She pulled out one of her thicker day dresses and laid it on the bed. The morning routine was not interrupted by anything, not even a squeaky stair. Lyanna found herself hoping that something would happen. She went about washing and dressing and combing out her hair and wondered if Rhaegar would come up anytime soon. She did not know when he had woken up, did not even know the hour of the day, but she did find his absence odd.

After a cursory glance to the mirror on the dresser, Lyanna went down the stairs in search of her husband. She had been given a tour of the house, of course, but she still felt shy and restless, walking along these halls that were not familiar to her eyes. The tasteful decorations were reminiscent of home, yet the difference between them and the house of her girlhood would not let her confuse the two.

Well it was certainly no use crying over something she could no longer change. She had accepted the new life and changes that came with it when she received Rhaegar into her bed. Besides, all things had to change at some pint. Stagnancy was the death of progress. And Lyanna did not intend to lose herself in miserable thoughts when she could just as easily gauge her new environment.

Finding the private room her husband used to conduct his business in was a bit of a challenge. Lyanna met it good-naturedly, opening door after door. After the fifth or sixth such occurrence some of her amusement began to fade. Keeping an iron grip of her composure, she walked down the hall and pushed her frame against another closed door. It gave way with a shrill creak and she was greeted by a pair of surprised amethyst eyes.

Her mission accomplished, Lyanna brushed invisible creased from her skirt and entered the room, the door closing with a soft whoosh behind her. "Good morning," she greeted him with a small unsure smile. Somehow it had been easier in her mind.

He blinked at her in an almost owlish manner. "It is closer to noon." But, despite his words a smile of his own responded to hers. His eyes fell back to the paper in front of his momentarily, only to return to her form, still standing at the other end of the room. "You may approach."

"How very gracious of you." Lyanna did not spare him the sarcasm and she could see he was glad for it. She took one of the chairs in front of his desk and leaned in slightly, curiously pursuing the paper he had placed on the polished surface. "What are you doing?"

"Last minute preparations," he replied, hand stretching over to take a steaming mug. It was then that Lyanna saw the plate of toast and remembered that she hadn't had anything to eat in quite some time. Unabashed she reached out for one of the pieces.

It was bad form, of course. She was not supposed to be picking food from anyone else's plate but her own. At the moment she couldn't care less though. Lyanna took a bite of the food and chewed on it slowly. It was very good. She swallowed and accepted the mug Rhaegar passed to her. "Is this tea?" she questioned with just a hint of amazement.

"Were you expecting something else?" His questioned had her shrug softly, however an answer would have to wait as she was busy sipping the beverage. Rhaegar favoured her with an amused shake of his head as if he couldn't quite make out the inner workings of her mind.

"I rather expected coffee," she admitted after setting the mug down. "My older brothers are convinced it's the best thing since The Seven-Pointed Star."

"I was under the impression that your family worshipped the old gods." Putting all papers away, Rhaegar focused his attention solely on her.

"We are. Of course, we are. The Starks are originally from the North." Lyanna settled more comfortably against her chair and wished she would have thought to bring a pillow with her. "Ned studies Philosophy though and apparently this was among his many readings. Brandon read it for amusement I suppose. But they used to debate about it long into the night. It made me curious. So I ended up reading it too."

"And how did you find it?" her husband drawled, running long fingers through his slightly disarrayed locks. "I trust it inspired the right amount of admiration."

Coming from anyone else it might have sounded condescending. But Lyanna could tell right away that he was not mocking her. "I picked it up thinking I would be reading a story. It was not what I expected." Her admission was joined by short lapse into silence. "Does it not bother you that we worship different gods?"

Rhaegar took a few moments to consider her question. "Spirituality is important. Your beliefs are part of who you are." He reached out for her hand and Lyanna gave it willingly. His thumb traced the warm metal of her wedding band. "And I wouldn't want to change you." The disclosure was intimate to its very core. Shaken by such an admission, Lyanna reserved her capability of producing speech for when her words would actually make sense. Rhaegar had more to say. "If you do change your beliefs I will support you, but be sure to do it because you want to, not because you feel you should please anybody."

In that moment Lyanna understood with wild clarity just why she had come in search of him. The knowledge trickled through her mind, filling her with an emotion she could not describe. Warmth exploded in her chest and she found herself squeezing his hand back, a half-formed thought almost making its way past her lips.

Thankfully she stopped it just in time. Graciously accepting his declaration, Lyanna offered him a courteous nod. Horrified at the turn her thoughts had taken she allowed him to return to his work, opting to walk to the window and stare at the world below. The heel of her palm came to rest near her heart, her fingers fiddling with a button in her distress. It was nothing short of mortifying and she could not, morbidly enough, allow the thought to pass her by without dissecting it.

She had been looking for a reassurance. That glimpse into her own weak heart brought her to silent fury. She had been about to ask him why. Why would he offer her his support? He was her husband of a few hours. A day at most. And he would be gone just as swiftly as he had appeared in her life. She could not grow attached to him. Being pleasant to one's spouse was one matter, but loving Rhaegar Targaryen was infinitely more complicated. Lyanna would not set herself up for heartbreak; she would not cause herself pain knowingly.

A hand touched her shoulder, startling her pout of her thoughts. "I'm fine," she replied to the unspoken question. Her voice came out harsher than she had intended. Lyanna smoothed it over by clearing her throat and attempting to speak once more. "I'm sorry. I really don't know what came over me. I expect it's the moodiness of the weather."

By the look of him, Rhaegar did not buy her lie. But he did not question her either. "Your mother will stop by later," he let her know, elegant fingers dropping from their perch on her shoulder. She felt the loss of contact most keenly. It was as if she were a piece of wood being set adrift. The sea of her troubled thoughts would drown her if she allowed it. Yet she could not help the way her insides squeezed painfully as fear and dread twisted in her stomach.

He turned to return to his previous place and Lyanna acted on impulse, making a grab for his arm. She wanted something that had no name in her mind. She wanted to beg him to stay today, tomorrow, forever. The force of these feelings almost swept her away.

Violet met gray. The words stuck to the back of throat, a soundless cry ringing out between them, recognisable only in the way it stilled the rest of the world. Lyanna's fingers clenched tighter around his arm, refusing to let go. His presence was anchoring. It was a strange mixture of safety and danger. The staring contest went on, neither wanting to admit defeat.

Possessed by something beyond her understanding, needing to connect on a deeper level with the only person she could fully claim as hers, Lyanna rose to the maximum height she could achieve and guided her mouth to his. Words were useless to her. She did not know the name of what she carved. Yet the idea that she might have just one more day to obtain it, just a few hours, spurred her into action.

At first he was unresponsive, too stunned perhaps by the boldness of her actions, but Rhaegar did not keep her waiting long. It seemed her husband could read her better than she knew how to. His free arm pulled her in a tight embrace, pressing long lines into soft curves. His tongue swept past her teeth and coxed her own tongue into motion.

The sense of doom hanging over them dissipated into soft caresses and quiet whispers. Lyanna clung to him, savouring the press of his body to hers. She resisted his brief attempt to separate himself from her, not ready to let go. "Just stay like this with me."

He remained, despite the confusion she could feel in the lines of his body.


	5. v

The soft clinking of china disrupted the pattern of silence that dominated in the well lit room. Lyanna finally released the sigh she had been holding back. Her mother looked up from her teacup with a pensive expression on her face. Lyarra placed the teacup of the table and held her hand out.

"You are so quiet," she noted softly. "Why are you not saying anything?" A worried expression crossed her face. To Lyanna it was clear she was holding something back. "Nothing at all?"

Lyanna shrugged. "What is there to say?" Nonetheless, she took the proffered hand and squeezed it gently. She blushed hotly despite herself. Questions swarmed inside her head. Lyanna pushed them back savagely. She was not about to discuss such embarrassing details of her wedding night with her mother.

Since she had stepped the threshold of her daughter's new home, Lynarra had been tense as a spring just waiting to snap. Despite the best of Lyanna's attempt her mother refused to unburden herself. It was one of those rules that had been firmly in place since before Lyanna was even born. Whatever quarrel was between spouses, it would remain there and outsiders were to turn their eyes away. Lyanna was not displeased by the rule, but it did make comforting her mother a tad difficult.

"Where is your husband, I haven't seen him at all." Lyarra's eyes softened on her daughter. "I hope I haven't scared him away."

"It had nothing to do with you visit, mother," Lyanna assured the older woman. She produced a small smile. "I reckon he is taking care of the last preparations." Confusion bloomed on her mother's face. Perhaps she had caught the sliver of spite in her daughter's voice. Lyanna held her gaze and waited for a verbal reaction.

"Preparations for what?" her mother questioned, hands neatly folded in her lap. She gave no signs of having known beforehand of the arrangement.

Taking a deep breath, Lyanna put her own teacup down. "He is leaving for the army." Disquiet crept in her heart as she made the admission. The young woman gave her companion a sullen look. "Did father know? Is that why he offered to marry me to Rhaegar despite having previously sworn that I would never enter the Targaryen family as long as he drew breath?"

Her mother jumped to her feet and rushed to Lyanna's side. "Was he unkind to you?" she asked, her arms hugging her daughter tightly.

"No, not at all." Her vehement protest was taken to heart. "Would you answer me?"

"Your father does not conduct his business in front of me," Lyarra insisted. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I do not know what changed his mind, darling. Whatever it was, you are now married."

"To a man who may die before I can even get to know him!" Lyanna finally exploded. "Why would he do that? And he never said a thing to me." She could not hold her mother's gaze for very long. Suddenly drained, Lyanna fell back with a soft thud. "I thought it might have to do with the failing business."

Clearly stunned by the discovery, Lyarra sat back down, her brow furrowed. "What are you saying, daughter? Why should your husband die?"

Frustrated tears burned at the corner of her eyes. Lyanna wiped them away furiously. "He is on leave, mother. Tomorrow he'll be gone. He's going to war." She was upset and very much in need of some advice of what to do.

"Most young men are going to war," the mother reminded her daughter in a gentle manner. She was doubtlessly speaking about her firstborn. "Even Ned is considering it." She brushed Lyanna's hair back. "But perhaps there is something else which pains you. And it had little to do with your father."

"He was kind to me. He was very kind." Her explanation felt a weak thing. Lyanna had no other words to speak at the moment though on the subject. "The war will put distance between us. What shall I do when he comes back, though?" The question rang through the room. "And what will I do, if he doesn't?"

"You will survive." There was no artifice to her mother's words. They were not optimistic, at least not to Lyanna's ears. She would be alone. "Whatever happens, Lyanna, remember, you must remember, that you are a survivor." Lyarra kissed her daughter's cheek. "Life is not always what we would want it to be, but only you can make it better."

Having managed to gain control of her wayward emotions, Lyanna nodded her head solemnly. She still wished she had been told. She still wished she had been given more time to know the man who called himself her husband. But the past was immutable. The only thing she had any hope of controlling was the future. Her mother was right, of course. Lyanna stood to her feet and walked about the room with a slow step. It was her duty to see to it that her marriage was a success. And if the gods decided that she should never enjoy more of her husband than the hours she had left with him, Lyanna would not break.

"It gets better, it does." Lyarra's voice broke through the heavy curtain of her daughter's thoughts. "You only need to have a little faith, my dear. That is all."

Unfortunately that was also the end of her mother's visit. Lyarra had another appointment which she could not miss. Lyanna kissed her mother goodbye and led her to the door. A few quiet moments passed as they embraced, like two people knowing it would be much too long a time until they saw each other again.

Left on her own, Lyanna contemplated some more the words her mother had left her with. She exerted herself to map out what the future might look like. The only thing before her eyes was blankness. Despite the best of her efforts being poured into the construction nothing came of it.

With an exasperated sigh, Lyanna gave up the endeavor and forced her mind in another direction.

That particular day being the last day she would spend with Rhaegar, Lyanna wondered what she ought to do for him. There was little she knew about him, and all her information came from a father that had been notoriously indifferent to anything else but the money the marriage yielded.

Before he had left her, Lyanna thought he might want o spend some more time with her. Her hopes had been dashed when her husband had pulled back from their kiss just as the butterflies took their flight in her belly, flittering about, nauseating her. It had been a good sort of feeling. Warmth had spread through her and she had been sure she would enjoy even more of his attention.

Rhaegar had had other ideas. Though his hands slipped down her back in languorous caresses he gave her no more than a kiss. In fact he had been quite adamant that she was to strain herself as little as possible. Lyanna had the vague suspicion that he thought she was still in pain. She wasn't. Yet she could not tell him that.

Indeed, kissing him had been spontaneous and maybe not one of her brighter notions, but in that moment she had needed to know there was another soul who felt like she did. And Rhaegar had been the only other soul in the room. Perhaps she should have exercised some control.

To his credit, Rhaegar had simply smoothed her slightly wrinkled dress from where his fingers had crumpled the material and told her he needed to go out. Already knowing of her mother's visit, Lyanna was forced to remain home. She had wished, for one small moment, that they had all the time in the world. Yet seeing Rhaegar act like they were in no real hurry gave her a sense of calmness. If he did not fear what was to come, she need not fear it either.

Come to think of it, her husband had never really exhibited any sort of distress, save when she had been insulted. It was a strange thing. And stranger still, her heart thumped just a bit louder as that thought made its way to the forefront of her mind.

Still, that did not answer the question of what they should do. Little experienced in the way of marriage, Lyanna was not really sure what a husband and wife did. Her parents had not been very close even when she was a child. They mostly kept separate rooms and separate lives. Lyanna had expected that her marriage would be much the same, with only children the link between herself and her husband.

Yet the thought of living as a stranger in the same house as her husband had lost its appeal. Whether it was because she had discovered unhoped-for warmth in Rhaegar or whether it was an illusion brought about by her young heart, she could not be sure, but Lyanna would cling to it nonetheless. There was nothing else to do, to be sure, and she was happy enough to attempt gaining some comfort.

The young woman much suspected that after Rhaegar left the loneliness would be an unpleasant aspect of her new life. But she could still write to him, she though. A small smile made its way to her lips. She brushed it off after a few moments. It would not do to be smiling at an empty room. Shaking her head, Lyanna decided to wait for Rhaegar somewhere else. Preferably nowhere near any reminder of their impending separation.

Rhaegar returned somewhere around noontime. By that point Lyanna had occupied the library and was sitting comfortably in a large chair, reading a poetry volume with avid eyes. That was how her husband found her when he entered said library, carrying a few small packs.

Looking up from her book, Lyanna greeted him with a smile. "I thought you would be longer." Momentarily lowering the book all the way to her lap, Lyanna fixed her attention on him as he arranged the new books he had brought with him.

His answer was a noncommittal sound. "I went by and asked about the train schedule." He turned to face her and Lyanna closed the book, instinctively clutching it to her chest. "I have to leave early tomorrow.

It hadn't been unexpected news, but that did not make it welcome. "At least we still have today." Lyanna placed the book on the table and stood to her feet. She inched closer towards Rhaegar, uncertainty written in the lines of her body. "I thought we could still spend some time together." Her suggestion was met with a frown. Lyanna mirrored his look. "Or is there something else?"

"Not at all," Rhaegar claimed hurriedly. "What were you reading?" She passed by her, holding himself so they would not even brush together. Lyanna bit down on her lip to keep from sighing. She gazed at him as he lifted the slim Byron volume. "A romantic, are you?"

"I suppose. It's nice poetry." Byron was not her favourite, but he was a good read. "Do you like poetry?" She held her hand out for the book which he relinquished without a word of protest.

"I prefer music." His admission did not dishearten Lyanna one bit. "I used to have a harp when I was younger." He smiled. Lyanna leaned slightly in.

"Used to?" she prompted.

"I should say that my father had a harp which I played incessantly until I had everyone in the house howling in pain." Lyanna laughed involuntarily. She could imagine just what ruckus he would have created. "Father had had quite enough of it by the first few days and a harpist was engaged to teach me."

"Then how come there is no harp here?" Lyanna offered him a benevolent smile. "I would like to hear you play once."

"I left it to my brother. I'll probably buy one soon." They both ignored the small matter of the war. "And then I'll make you cry."

"Are you telling me you haven't improved at all?" she teased, touching his sleeve softly.

"My apologies, I meant tears of joy," he returned.


End file.
